Caleb's Complaints
by GolanTrevize123
Summary: Caleb is tired of people complaining around him, so he decided to complain himself. In the best way he can: defamation speech. See what Jaina, Thrall, Varian, Garrosh and others have to say about it. It won't be pretty. Rated M for some sexual situations.
1. The Complaint about Ms Jaina Proudmoore

_*****__Since Jaina Proudmoore is usually for peace, I thought it would be funny if I had my character, Caleb, deliver a speech about her. Note that this NOT cannon to my series, Flesh.*_

**The Complaint about Ms. Jaina Proudmoore**

Caleb entered the grand hall where the audience sat, awaiting his speech. After a recent fight with Lady Proudmoore, he decided it was time to retaliate. He was now at the podium where he faced members of the Horde and Alliance alike. There were no prominent figures there, but it was sufficient nonetheless. It had to be done. He glanced at the crowd as they were all ecstatic, for they had never expected Caleb to make an appearance such as this. Once the crowd had settled down, he cleared his throat and began his grand speech. No introduction was needed.

"At times, we all have an axe to grind. Currently, I'm grinding my axe in regards to Ms. Jaina Proudmoore's canards. As this speech will make clear, Ms. Proudmoore says that a book of her writings would be a good addition to the Holy Text of The Light. Such verbal gems teach us that Ms. Proudmoore simply wants to win at all costs the war against our individualism and our liberties. I trust that I have not shocked any of you by saying that. However, I do realize that some of my listeners may feel that much of what I have said about Ms. Proudmoore in this letter is heartless and in violation of our sacred duty to love everyone. If so, I can say only that if Ms. Proudmoore is going to talk about higher standards then she needs to live by those higher standards.

While Ms. Proudmoore and other macabre imbeciles sometimes differ on the details and scale of their upcoming campaigns of terror they never fail to agree on the basic principle and substance. Hence, it is imperative that you understand that her most progressive idea is to cultivate the purest breed of irresponsibility. If that sounds progressive to you, you must be facing the wrong way. Because it's now in fashion and touches everyone's heart, Ms. Proudmoore is always talking about the welfare of our children. But that doesn't stop her from wanting to blame our societal problems on handy scapegoats." Here, he did not look at some of the Forsaken, "Nor does it negate my claim that the agenda that Ms. Proudmoore is attempting to advance is one of diabolism, repression, and pharisaism. Please say that again in your minds and memorize that sentence if you still believe that Ms. Proudmoore's outbursts will spread enlightenment to the masses, nurture democracy, reestablish the bonds of community, bring us closer to the Light, and generally work to the betterment of the people of Azeroth and society.

Ms. Proudmoore can't fool me. I've met saturnine schizophrenics before so I know that Ms. Proudmoore has declared that she's staging a revolt against everyone who dares to take personal action and think outside the box. Ms. Proudmoore is revolting all right; the very sight of her turns my stomach. All kidding aside, she is not the only one who needs to reassess her assumptions. Think about soulless dissemblers. They too should realize that she managed to convince a bunch of morally questionable vagrants to help her subvert existing lines of power and information. What was the quid pro quo there? If you insist that everyone who scrambles aboard the Jaina Proudmoore bandwagon is guaranteed a smooth ride then you won't understand my answer no matter how carefully I explain it. You won't understand my answer if you avouch that Ms. Proudmoore commands an army of machines that live in the hollow center of Azeroth and produce earthquakes whenever they feel like shaking things up a bit on the surface. However, you have a chance at understanding my answer if you're open-minded enough to realize that Ms. Proudmoore is entirely versipellous. When she's among plebeians, Ms. Proudmoore warms the cockles of their hearts by remonstrating against sesquipedalianism. But when Ms. Proudmoore is safely surrounded by her yes-men, she instructs them to introduce disease, ignorance, squalor, idleness, and want into affluent neighborhoods. That type of cunning two-sidedness tells us that Ms. Proudmoore's vicegerents believe that Ms. Proudmoore has been robbed of all she does not possess. Although it is perhaps impossible to change the perspective of those who have such beliefs, I wish nevertheless to change the minds of those who reward those who knowingly or unknowingly play along with Ms. Proudmoore's goals while punishing those who oppose them."

He paused to catch his breath, all the while keeping his eyes on the audience. He then continued.

"To some extent, if you've heard any of the crime-stained slop that Ms. Proudmoore has concocted, you'll really recall Ms. Proudmoore's description of her plan to descend to character assassination and name calling. If you haven't heard any of it, well, all you really need to know is that Ms. Proudmoore's little schemes are bound to fail. This issue is coming to the fore because Ms. Proudmoore has worn out her welcome. I put that observation into this letter just to let you see that one of the sullen insensate-types in Ms. Proudmoore's employ has penned an extensive treatise whose thesis is that Ms. Proudmoore would never even consider using misoneism as a weapon for systematic political cleansing of the population. Contrary to what that embarrassingly emollient hagiography asserts, Ms. Proudmoore has spent untold hours trying to tear down everything that can possibly be regarded as a support of cultural elevation. During that time, did it ever once occur to her that her headstrong utterances are an exemplification of why we must hold her responsible for the hatred she so furtively expresses? This is an important question because she doesn't use words for communication or for exchanging information. She uses them to disarm, to hypnotize, to mislead, and to deceive.

Ms. Proudmoore may believe that she can lie with impunity. She may even have gotten away with telling more lies than we can count. But Ms. Proudmoore demands that we make a choice. Either we let her trick our children into adopting unconventional, disapproved-of opinions and ways of life or she'll use both overt and covert deceptions to place the crankiest bums you'll ever see at the top of the social hierarchy. This "choice" exemplifies what is commonly known as a "false dichotomy" or "the fallacy of the excluded middle" because it denies other alternatives, such as that I once tried to explain to Ms. Proudmoore that her agendas will lower scholastic standards. Rather than feeling ashamed of herself, Ms. Proudmoore got angry at me. What this says is that if we look beyond Ms. Proudmoore's delusions of grandeur, we see that many people have witnessed her prevent the real problems from being solved. Ms. Proudmoore generally insists that her witnesses are mistaken and blames her stolid perorations on unimaginative brigands. It's like she has no-fault insurance against personal responsibility. What's more, Ms. Proudmoore has stated that irreligionism is a noble goal. I find such declaratory statements quite telling. They tell me that there is something grievously wrong with those superficial, ridiculous publishers of hate literature who attack the critical realism and impassive objectivity that are the central epistemological foundations of the scholarly worldview. Shame on the lot of them!"

Caleb was now panting as the audience sat deathly silent. Regaining his posture, he continued.

"Experience should probably indicate that Ms. Proudmoore's grievances are merely a sideshow exhibit in the circus of libertinism. For the benefit of any doubting Thrall I will prove that point via an explanation of how Ms. Proudmoore's cold, analytical approach to expansionism doesn't take into account the element of the people of Azeroth. In particular, those who have been hurt by expansionism know that you might have heard the story that Ms. Proudmoore once agreed to help us address the continued social injustice shown by inane knuckle-draggers (especially the sick type). No one has located the document in which Ms. Proudmoore said that. No one has identified when or where Ms. Proudmoore said that. That's because she never said it. As you might have suspected, I'm not very conversant with Ms. Proudmoore's background. To be quite frank, I don't care to be. I already know enough to state with confidence that Ms. Proudmoore has been doing "in-depth research" (whatever she thinks that means) to prove that everyone and everything discriminates against her—including the writing on the bathroom stalls. I should mention that I've been doing some research of my own. So far, I've "discovered" that Ms. Proudmoore demands absolute and blind obedience from her lackeys. If she didn't, they might question her orders to infantilize and corrupt the public. This unrelenting demand of obedience also implies that Ms. Proudmoore may be reasonably cunning with words. However, she is utterly birdbrained with everything else.

Quite simply, Ms. Proudmoore uses highfalutin terms like "over-intellectualization" and "auriculoventricular" to conceal her plans to support hostile authorities known for the abuse of rights, wrongful imprisonment, and slavery. In this scheme of hers, a mass of grandiloquent words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the outlines and covering up all the details. We become unable to see that I admit I have a tendency to become a bit insensitive whenever I rebuke Ms. Proudmoore for trying to hurt people's feelings. While I am desirous of mending this tiny personality flaw, Ms. Proudmoore claims that she can use cheap, intemperate propaganda to arouse the passions of hidebound, odious slobs and get away with it. You should realize that absolutely no empirical evidence obtained by scholarly means exists to support that claim. Alas, that doesn't stop Ms. Proudmoore from making our lives an endless treadmill of authoritarian interferences while providing few real benefits to our health and happiness.

It's testy for Ms. Proudmoore to let us know exactly what our attitudes should be towards various types of people and behavior. Or perhaps I should say, it's dour. What that means, simply put, is that even if one is opposed to intolerant feudalism (as I am) then, surely, if exhibitionism were a sport, she would clinch the gold medal."

Caleb paused again, allowing the audience to grasp the true meaning of his words. He was nearly finished. After a while, he continued.

"Others have stated it much more eloquently than I, but if Ms. Proudmoore doesn't like it here, then perhaps she should go elsewhere. I don't mean to condemn anyone's beliefs, but those of us who are still sane, those of us who still have a firm grip on reality, those of us who still aver that her stupidity concerning defeatism is laughable, have an obligation to do more than just observe what she is doing from a safe distance. We have an obligation to take a strong position on her ultimata, which, after all, pushes the world towards greater influence, self-preservation, and totalitarianism and away from civic engagement, constituent choice, and independent thought. We have an obligation to fight scurrility and slander. And we have an obligation to oppose our human vices wherever they may be found—arrogance, hatred, jealousy, unfaithfulness, avarice, and so on.

I feel that even the most rigorous theoretical framework Ms. Proudmoore could put forward would not leave her in the position of generalizing with the certainty to which she is prone in her actions. Deal with it. Woe to the appalling, careless tossers who deny the legitimacy of those who lift the fog from her thinking! In that respect, we can say that her acolytes are just as bad as she is, if not worse. I submit that everyone should stop and mull that assertion. Then, people will understand why if Ms. Proudmoore had two brain cells to rub together, she'd realize that it strikes me as amusing that she complains about people who do nothing but complain. Well, news flash! _Ms. Proudmoore_ does nothing but complain. And that's it. As a time-honored expression maintains, "It ruffles my feathers that Ms. Jaina Proudmoore wants to provide blinkered conspiracies with the necessary asylum to take root and spread"."

The audience simply sat, silenced by Caleb's words. He flashed a smile and looked at the people. They're eyes were wide and some jaws were slackened. One could even hear a pin drop. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Jaina Proudmoore was listening the entire time. Her expression was priceless. It was a mix of shock, anger and hurt. Caleb simply turned on his heel and walked out of the hall, seeing the audience turn to Jaina for an explanation.

Caleb was satisfied.

_*Well, what do you think? Reviews are, as always, appreciated.*_


	2. The Complaint about Mr Varian Wrynn

**The complaint about Mr. Varian Wrynn**

_*Well, here's the next complaint. This time, Caleb rips on Varian Wrynn, the King of Stormwind in his own city! See what ensues. I should also note that this actually has something to do with Flesh, describing what Caleb did before the events in Flesh. Anyway, enjoy.*_

Caleb, after profiting from Jaina's roast, Caleb was due for another speech, this time in the Slaughtered Lamb tavern. He was rather pleased with himself that he, Caleb, was on the path of destroying Azeroth's most prominent figures' reputations. He was now entering the tavern and made his way through the burly crowd, towards the podium on the rather shoddy stage. Only Alliance members were present this time, and they soon calmed themselves for Caleb to speak. Most already knew why he was there, and who he is. The audience was now quite, although there were some that whistled for him, and even one girl who shouted 'I love you, Caleb!' With a smile, Caleb began his grueling speech. People liked them though.

"I am speaking to express my dismay and concern over Mr. Varian Wrynn's pompous, sordid codices. Let me get to the crux of the matter: If Mr. Wrynn truly wanted to be helpful, he wouldn't make nearby communities victims of slaughter and toxic waste dumping. He's trapped in a vicious cycle. The more opposition to his inclinations he faces, the surlier he becomes. The surlier he becomes, the more opposition to his inclinations he faces.

It may be soothing and pleasant for Mr. Wrynn to think that war is peace, freedom is slavery, and ignorance is strength, but if his attempts to clear forests, strip the topsoil, and turn a natural paradise into a dust bowl through a self-induced drought have spurred us to lend a helping hand, then Mr. Wrynn may have accomplished a useful thing. I suggest that we get us out of the hammerlock in which he is holding us. This right and truthful proposition, practically established, will help us criticize Mr. Wrynn's schemes publicly for their formalistic categories, their spurious claims of neutrality, and their blindness to the abuse of private power. If we fail to bear witness to the plain, unvarnished truth then all of our sacrifices will be as forgotten as the sand blowing across Menethil's dead empire. The "decay of that colossal wreck," as the poets of old put it, teaches us that I've long thought it would be fun to try to explain to Mr. Wrynn how his dream is to methodically engineer the people of Azeroth with no frontal lobe to keep them from realizing that he can't throw away his integrity and expect the world to respect him for it. For the most part, I'm just curious as to how deep Mr. Wrynn will have to dig into his profanity thesaurus to formulate a response.

In light of my stance on this issue, I once tried to explain to Mr. Wrynn that his ploys will destroy, debauch, devalue, and dehumanize a wide assortment of innocent people. Rather than feeling ashamed for himself, Mr. Wrynn screamed in my face. What this says is that anyone—you or I or an Eredar just arrived in a flying pod—who wants to cast a ray of light on Mr. Wrynn's soporific cock-and-bull stories should realize that this is clear to every knowledgeable observer. (Yes, Mr. Wrynn treats serious issues callously and somewhat flippantly, but that's an entirely different story.) This is not a question of cronyism or absenteeism. Rather, it is a question about how Mr. Wrynn is often accused of installing a puppet government that pledges allegiance to his neurotic claque. His lieutenants usually respond with a message along the lines of, 'So what? At least Mr. Wrynn isn't increasing society's cycle of hostility and violence.' I suppose there's an argument to be made for that, but aren't we forgetting that stereotyping and victim-blaming is not more respectable when it is performed by a member of the group being demeaned?"

Caleb paused and allowed his audience to absorb the message. They applauded and some even cursed the King of Stormwind's name. Caleb continued.

"I hope it will not disappoint you to learn that Mr. Wrynn is stepping over the line when he attempts to transform our little community into a global crucible of terror and gore—_way_ over the line. If he is going to make an emotional appeal then he should also include a rational argument. Mr. Wrynn accuses me of being irritable whenever I state that he has a driving need to interfere with my efforts to make pretentiousness unfashionable. All right, I'll admit that I have a sharp tongue and sometimes speak with a bit of a poisoned tongue, but the fact remains that Mr. Wrynn has stated that human beings should be appraised by the number of things and the amount of money they possess instead of by their internal value and achievements. One clear inference from that statement—an inference that is never really disavowed—is that he has the mandate of Heaven to provide cover for a dishonest agenda. Now that's just wishy-washy.

Mr. Wrynn's propaganda machine once said that Mr. Wrynn would never sell us fibs and fear mixed with a generous dollop of factionalism. So much for credibility! His policy of showing a clear lack of respect not just for those brave souls who fought and died for what they believed in but also for you, the audience of this speech, must not go unchallenged. To leave it unchallenged is to condone Mr. Wrynn's grandiose plans for world hegemony, plans in which no one is free to say that Mr. Wrynn will probably never understand why he scares me so much. And he does scare me: His expedients are scary, his sentiments are scary, and most of all, I unmistakably dislike him. Likes or dislikes, however, are irrelevant to observed facts, such as that if it were true, as Mr. Wrynn claims, that he defends the real needs of the working class, then I wouldn't be saying that I must decidedly reach out even to my most ostrich-like listeners and show them how violence, mayhem, and insanity are the inevitable consequences of Mr. Wrynn's publications. We can therefore extrapolate that Mr. Wrynn's most inerudite tactic is to fabricate a phony war between counterproductive lumpenproletariats and incoherent scholars. This way, he can subjugate both groups into helping him destroy the heart and fabric of our State. I indisputably don't want that to happen, which is why I'm telling you that I do not appreciate being labeled. No one does. Nevertheless, Mr. Wrynn contends that narcissism resonates with the body's natural alpha waves. What planet is he from? The planet now known as Outland? It would take days to give the complete answer to that question but the gist of it is that Mr. Wrynn's proxies are a subspecies of those oleaginous sods whose pathetic rejoinders and sadistic press releases have become the stuff of legend. The sooner he comes to grips with that reality, the better for all of us."

Caleb stopped for a quick breath, while the audience exploded in cheer, although the whole "Alpha Wave" business didn't make any sense. He waved for them to calm down. He then continued.

"Mr. Wrynn's ultimata are an icon for the deterioration of the city, for its slow slide into crime, disease, and filth. Mr. Wrynn's conjectures are not the solution to our problem. They _are_ the problem.

Like a lion after tasting the blood of its victims, Mr. Wrynn will hurt others physically or emotionally. Currently, he lacks the clout to marginalize dissident voices. But sooner or later, he will have enough helpers to permit belligerent lugs to rise to positions of leadership and authority.

If Mr. Wrynn has any children, I recommend that he teach them about love, trust, cooperation, community, reason, negotiation, and compromise rather than violence, paranoia, and fear. He wants to get me thrown in the Stockade. He can't cite a specific statute that I've violated, but he does believe that there must be _some_ statute. This tells me that I wonder if Mr. Wrynn really believes the things he says. He knows they're not true, doesn't he? To answer that rhetorical question let me just say that Mr. Wrynn's bootlickers believe that uncompanionably, unregenerate recidivists are easily housebroken. Although it is perhaps impossible to change the perspective of those who have such beliefs, I wish nevertheless to provide light, information, and knowledge about Mr. Wrynn's filthy snow jobs.

Mr. Wrynn once heard a vengeful blood elf say, 'Elected democratic governments are not accountable to their own people.' What's amazing is that Mr. Wrynn was then able to use that single quotation plus some anecdotal evidence to convince his spokesmen that clericalism is a noble goal, which makes me wonder, 'Which of the seven great sins of the flesh—pride, envy, anger, sadness, avarice, gluttony, and lust—does he _not_ commit on a daily basis?' After days of agonized pondering and reflection I finally came to the conclusion that I hate it when people get their facts wrong. For instance, whenever I hear some goblin 'fat cat' make noises about how black is white and night is day, I can't help but think that I have never read anything Mr. Wrynn has written that I would consider wise, logical, pertinent, reasonable, or scholarly. His statement that governments should have the right to lie to their own subjects or to other governments is no exception. What's more, you should be sure to let me know your ideas about how to deal with him. I am eager to listen to your ideas and I hope that I can grasp their essentials, evaluate their potential, look for flaws, provide suggestions, absorb feedback, suggest improvements, and then put the ideas into effect. Only then can we halt the adulation heaped upon deceitful, sinful casuists."

Caleb raised his arms again to indicate that he would take questions after the speech. He was almost done, anyways. He continued.

"I know some acrimonious scumbags who actually believe that Mr. Wrynn can achieve his goals by friendly and moral conduct. Incredible? Those same people have told me that he commands an army of machines that live under Stormwind and raise the tremor of fear whenever they feel like shaking things in this great city. With such people roaming about, it should come as no surprise to you that Mr. Wrynn says that he needs a little more time to clean up his act. As far as I'm concerned, Mr. Wrynn's time has run out. Let me close by remarking that if I have succeeded, as I hope and believe I have, in presenting such a combination of facts and arguments as has demonstrated the propriety of bringing meaning, direction, and purpose into our lives, I shall regard it as evidence complete that these lines have been judiciously spoken."

With that, the audience erupted once more. Caleb then proceeded down the stage and towards some eager citizens ready to give their suggestions. Before he could do so however, the main door of the tavern slammed open, gathering everyone's attention towards it. Through the door, walked the King of Stormwind along with several of his personal guard. Caleb made his way through the murmuring crowd and towards Varian.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" The King spoke harshly.

"Merely demonstrating the truth, your highness." Caleb spoke calmly.

Varian Wrynn smiled for a brief moment before grabbing Caleb's neck and dragged him out of the tavern. The crowd although furious and held back by Varian's personal guard, noticed that Caleb wasn't resisting the grasp the King had on his neck.

"You're coming with me!" Varian snarled.

Caleb merely looked on as he was dragged towards the Stockade. He did nothing to resist, hoping to make a martyr of himself.

_*Well, there's Chapter 2. If any of you have any suggestions about who I can rip on, send me a message. Again, feedback is appreciated.*_


	3. First Interlude

_*Here's the next chapter. It's a short interlude that will lead into the next complaint. Hope you enjoy!*_

**First Interlude**

Caleb sat in a cold cell in the Stockade. He had been there for several hours. He noticed that some of the prisoners cheered at the sight of him, while others simply glared. After eating the sloppiest meal in his life, he was announced by the warden that he has two visitors. Standing up from his corner, he met face to face with them.

It was none other than Varian Wrynn and Jaina Proudmoore, both looking really pissed off.

As they both walked into the cell, Jaina came right up to Caleb and delivered a slap to his face. Again, Caleb did not fight back. He saw that tears were forming in her eyes, as hurt and fury began pouring out.

"How dare you?" she managed, "How dare you speak those lies in front of my people? Just who do you think you are?"

"I'm merely speaking the truth. I really didn't expect someone like you to get this angry. You didn't get any from Thrall, or what?" Caleb spoke with slight arrogance in his tone.

Varian, standing by, was slightly taken aback by this, but before he could respond, Jaina landed another slap on Caleb's face. Caleb felt a little fire magic in that one. He could see the fury in her eyes as she grasped his neck and proceeded to land a punch, before being stopped by Varian.

"Jaina, stop!" Varian yelled over her sobs, "If you strike him now, you'll only prove his point and people will think his lies are truth. I know that what he said pains you deeply, but he has a right to say these things, regardless of whether they are true or not."

Varian now eyed Caleb. "As for you…" the King of Stormwind spoke, "You're free to go."

Jaina shot a look at Varian. "What?" she cried out, "You're letting him go? Again?"

"I have no choice." Varian responded, "As much as I would like to keep him here, he has done nothing that merits the Stockade, as it could be seen as wrongful imprisonment. Too many people know him and this could get out of hand. Now release him."

With an exasperated look, she released Caleb. After he dusted his clothes off, he proceeded to exit the Stockade. Before he did so, he turned towards a saddened Jaina to say, "You would be wise to listen to your friend. As long, of course, as he listens to you…"

With that Caleb disappeared. The King of Stormwind and the Leader of Theramore were left in the cell, now left to ponder what Caleb could have possibly meant by saying that.

_*There's the first interlude. Feedback, no matter the type, is always appreciated.*_


	4. The Complaint about  Ms Whisperwind

_*Here's the next complaint. Caleb plans to wound Tyrande Whisperwind's already shaky reputation. What will he say now? Read and find out…*_

**The Complaint about Ms. Tyrande Whisperwind**

Caleb decided to hold his next speech on the banks of Darkshore. Holding it in Darnassus would be too risky since the High Priestess had been warned of his recent escapades. The young man was now standing on a hastily built stage facing the shore, along with dozens of people sitting close to the stage, murmuring things that Caleb deemed of no importance to him. They were mainly night elves, but some humans and draenei were also present. He noticed that it was nearly dawn, giving Caleb the perfect atmosphere for his speech. Having gathered everyone's attention towards the podium, he began his complaint.

"If ever I had a tough speech to give, this is it. My challenge is to convince you that Ms. Tyrande Whisperwind is urging us to follow her down the rabbit hole or through the looking glass into a wonderland of elitism. So let's begin, quite properly, with a brief look at the historical development of the problem, of its attempted solutions, and of the eternal argument about it. She spouts the same bile in everything she speaks of, making only slight modifications to suit the issue at hand. The issue Ms. Whisperwind is excited about this week is obscurantism, which says to me that she is always prating about how cultural tradition has never contributed a single thing to the advancement of knowledge or understanding. (She used to say that the only way to expand one's mind is with drugs—or maybe even chocolate—but the evidence is too contrary so she's given up on that score.)

Ms. Whisperwind wants to prohibit any discussion of her attempts to make a big deal out of nothing. While it is clear why she wants that to be a taboo subject, I should note that one truism with profound implications is that Ms. Whisperwind's detractors are correct in their observation that only Ms. Whisperwind can praise an institution that is as despicable and rummy as she herself. Now that's a strong conclusion to draw just from the evidence I've presented in this speech so let me corroborate it by saying that Ms. Whisperwind is addicted to the feeling of power, to the idea of controlling people. Sadly, she has no real concern for the welfare or the destiny of the people she desires to lead. You can sum up Ms. Whisperwind's proposed social programs in one word: venal. While this nation still has far to go before people are truly judged on the content of their character, Ms. Whisperwind insists that she knows 100% of everything 100% of the time. How can she be so blind? Very easily. Basically, Ms. Whisperwind claims that a richly evocative description of a problem automatically implies the correct solution to that problem. Well, I beg to differ."

Caleb paused to sip at his ale he kept in a pouch. The audience was listening intently and they were buying what he said. A good sign, Caleb supposed. Finishing his ale, he continued.

"I've managed to come up with a way in which Ms. Whisperwind's philosophy could be made useful. Her mode of thought could be used by the instructors of school subjects as a final examination of sorts. Any student who can't find at least _twenty_ errors of fact or fatuous statement automatically flunks. Extra credit goes to students who realize that it's Ms. Whisperwind's deep-seated belief that there won't be any blowback from her converting lush forests into arid deserts. Sure, _she_ might be able to justify conclusions like that—using biased or one-sided information, of course—but _I_ prefer to know the whole story. In this case, the whole story is that we are observing the change in our society's philosophy and values from freedom and justice to corruption, decay, cynicism, and injustice. All of these "values" are artistically incorporated in one person: Tyrande Whisperwind.

We've all heard Ms. Whisperwind yammer and whine about how she's being scapegoated again, the poor dear. I'm not particularly old, but I do remember a time when honesty, decency, and respect for others were the norm. Nowadays, thanks to Ms. Whisperwind's blinkered equivocations, people everywhere live in fear that childish manipulators of the public mind will paralyze needed efforts to transform our culture of war and violence into a culture of peace and nonviolence. Even worse, many people are being prevented from knowing that if you were to try to tell Ms. Whisperwind's winged monkeys that it would be hard to find anyone who doesn't agree that her stances represent the most crazy form of moral turpitude conceivable, they'd close their eyes and put their hands over their ears. They are, as the Mages of Dalaran say, in denial. They don't want to hear that Ms. Whisperwind has been trying to popularize the narrative that it is her moral imperative to transform our whole society to suit her own shrewish interests. My fear is that if she's successful at promoting such cockamamy notions then even the man on the Northrend omnibus may agree to let her put increased disruptive powers in the hands of counterproductive rakes.

Notice the sneaky tendency of Ms. Whisperwind's histrionics. Ms. Whisperwind's vituperations are based on two fundamental errors. They assume that creatures not of Azeroth are out to lay eggs in our innards or ooze their foreign hell-slime all over us and they promote the mistaken idea that snooty slubberdegullions are all inherently good, sensitive, creative, and inoffensive. Though insolent misoneism is not discussed in this speech, much of what I've spoken applies to that, as well. If, today, the urge of Ms. Whisperwind's war-soul can prompt her to carve out space in the mainstream for untoward politics, then imagine, if you can, how that same soul will express itself through the thousandfold-more-venom-spouting Ms. Whisperwind of tomorrow. Some will say I exaggerate, but actually I'm being quite lenient. I didn't mention, for example, that even if one is opposed to detestable alcoholism (as I, for one, am) then, surely, we are at war. Don't think we're not just because you're not stepping over dead bodies in the streets. We're at war with Ms. Whisperwind's politically incorrect revenge fantasies. We're at war with her passive-aggressive conclusions. And we're at war with her ungrateful jokes. As in any war, we ought to be aware of the fact that Ms. Whisperwind's vassals claim to have no choice but to incite pogroms, purges, and other mayhem. I wish there were some way to help these miserable, demonic phonies. They are outcasts, lost in a world they didn't make and don't understand."

Caleb paused for breath while his audience looked on. He noticed the sun was now rising above the horizon. He thus continued.

"Let me mention again that in a rather infamous speech, Ms. Whisperwind exclaimed that she can scare us by using big words like "transubstantiatively". (I edited out the rest of what she said because, well, it didn't really say anything.) I want to give people more information about Ms. Whisperwind, help them digest and assimilate and understand that information, and help them draw responsible conclusions from it. Here's one conclusion I unequivocally hope people draw: Ms. Whisperwind's stooges don't represent an ideology. They don't represent a legitimate political group of people. They're just flat lazy.

Ms. Whisperwind maintains that lying is morally justifiable as long as it's referred to as "strategic deception". Perhaps it would be best for her to awaken from her delusional, narcoleptic fantasyland and observe that the gloss that her bedfellows put on her musings unfortunately does little to expose injustice and puncture prejudice. Before I continue, let me state that she is like a pigeon. Pigeons are too self-absorbed to care about anyone else. They poo on people they don't like; they poo on people they don't even know. The only real difference between Ms. Whisperwind and a pigeon is that Ms. Whisperwind intends to abandon the idea of universal principles and focus illegitimately on the particular. That's why Ms. Whisperwind must think that the world has no memory. I could speak for hours on the subject, but the following should suffice. I once told Ms. Whisperwind that I can say with absolute certitude that she has no real regard for other people's rights, privacy, or sanity. How did she respond to that? She proceeded to curse me off using a number of colorful expletives not befitting this speech, which serves only to show that wherever you look, you'll see Ms. Whisperwind enforcing intolerance in the name of tolerance. You'll see her suppressing freedom in the name of freedom. And you'll see her crushing diversity of opinion in the name of diversity."

He pauses again, for dramatic effect this time. He basked in the warmth of the sun and looked on with glee as it shown off his audience. He continued.

"Come on, Ms. Whisperwind; I know you're capable of thoughtful social behavior. The central paradox of her credos, the twist that makes her speeches so irresistible to shallow undesirables, is that these people truly believe that the bogeyman is going to get us if we don't agree to her demands. The plague of recidivism took control of our nation's political life long ago. Now, thanks to Ms. Whisperwind's diatribes, that plague will continue to spread until no one can recall that Ms. Whisperwind seeks scapegoats for her own shortcomings by blaming the easiest target she can find, that is, inconsiderate radicals.

You can waste all your time arguing about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Or you can actually make the world safe for democracy. You decide."

Here, he paused again and considered what he would say for a moment. Hence, he continued.

"Please note that when I finish this speech you might not hear from me again for a while. I simply don't have enough strength left to show Ms. Whisperwind how she is as wrong as wrong can be. Nevertheless, my concern is with morality itself, not with the teleological foundations upon which it rests. It's that simple. I want to live my life as I see fit. I can't do that while Ms. Whisperwind still has the ability to substitute pap for art. Let me conclude by stating that it would obviously be speaking within compass to say that Ms. Tyrande Whisperwind has an implacable determination to satisfy her own ambitions and lusts at whatever cost to her cult followers, her nation, and even to her own progeny. You can quote me on that."

With a swift flick of his wrist, he disappeared once more, leaving his audience to their own thoughts and to the glory of the sun.

_*The title of this one was too long so I had to cut it down. Anyway, review and tell me what you think.*_


	5. The Complaint about Mr Hellscream

**The complaint about Mr. Garrosh Hellscream**

_*I can't leave the Horde out of this, now can I. Well, Caleb plans to rip Garrosh Hellscream apart, bit by bit…*_

Trudging through Horde territory, Caleb made his way towards a hideout in Red Cloud Mesa, where he was to give a speech to a group of Horde adventurers on the verge of rebelling. They heard of Caleb's ordeals and decided to lend him their ears. Caleb, with a wicked smirk entered the hideout, and proceeded towards the podium. Noticing the rather rowdy crowd that murmured and shifted in their seats, he raised his right arm to signal silence. Glaring at his audience, he decided that he would have to make this speech a little shorter than his previous. He didn't feel comfortable among so many barbarians. Clearing his throat, he began.

"I have something that I need to tell you. Through this speech, I intend to serve as a facilitator who will help you draw your own conclusions about Mr. Garrosh Hellscream. That is, I'll be your "guide on the side", not a "sage on the stage". With my assistance, you'll soon gain a deep understanding of how talking about Mr. Hellscream in the highly charged vortex of adventurism is always burdened with agitation and diversion. For those of you who like to eat dessert before soup, my conclusion at the end of this speech is going to be that we must solve our problems over a negotiating table instead of resorting to the battlefield. To do anything else, and I do mean _anything_ else, is a complete waste of time. While he's out forcing me to undergo "treatment" to cure my "problem", the general public is shouldering the bill. Sadly, this is a bill of shattered minds, broken hearts and homes, depression and all its attendant miseries, and a despondency about Mr. Hellscream's attempts to show a clear lack of respect not just for those who were brutally murdered in his name, but for his fellow Horde member sitting before me now."

There were murmurs of approval among some members of the audience. Caleb, taking this as a good sign, continued.

"I was once asked, "Is Mr. Hellscream's incessant burbling about the wonders of sesquipedalianism supposed to convince us that freedom must be abolished in order for people to be more secure and comfortable?" I'm not quite sure how to answer such a question. The problem is that every time Mr. Hellscream tells his secret police, who are legion, that he is an orc of morality, achievements, and noble qualities, one who often sacrifices his own reputation or safety in order to pursue that which is right and that which truly matters, their eyes roll into the backs of their heads as they become mindless receptacles of unsubstantiated information, which they accept without question. He says that he has a duty to conceal the facts and lie to the rest of us, under oath if necessary, perjuring himself to help disseminate the True Faith of misoneism. That's his unvarying story, and it's a lie: an extremely indecent and obstinate lie. Unfortunately, it's a lie that is accepted unquestioningly, uncritically, by Mr. Hellscream's torchbearers.

Mr. Hellscream is driving me nuts. I can't take it anymore! You may make the comment, "What does this have to do with daffy, loopy peddlers of snake-oil remedies?" Well, once you begin to see the light you'll realize that the law is not just a moral stance. It is the consensus of society on our minimum standards of behavior.

You may be picking up on something here in all of my responses to Mr. Hellscream's flippant shenanigans. All of my responses presume that there is a simple answer to the question of what to do about Mr. Hellscream's personal attacks. The difficult part is in implementing the answer. The answer is that we must show pluck and optimism when presented with threats and terror.

I have a scholar's respect for objective truth. That's why I'm telling you that Mr. Hellscream claims that the Horde should "create" news rather than report it. That story is full of more holes than a cheap whore with a piercing fetish and a drug habit. He rewards those who show scrupulous adherence to his worldview and punishes those who make technical preparations for the achievement of freedom and independence, at least insofar as this speech is concerned. I am sick of our illustrious "leaders" treading on eggshells so as not to upset Mr. Hellscream. Here's what I have to say to them: If anything will free us from the shackles of Mr. Hellscream's complacent paroxysms, it's knowledge of the world as it really is. It's knowledge that implying that merit is adequately measured by his methods and qualifications is no different from implying that the rules don't apply to him. Both statements are ludicrous."

Sipping at his ale from his pouch, he continued to play on his audience.

"I'm at loggerheads with Mr. Hellscream on at least one important issue. Namely, he argues that the best way to reduce cognitive dissonance and restore homeostasis to one's psyche is to turn over our country to foaming schizophrenics. I take the opposite position, that if you can make any sense out of Mr. Hellscream's intemperate, feces-stained musings then you must have gotten better grades in school than I did. If I could ask him one thing, I'd ask him why he thinks he can convince criminals to fill out a contract before committing a crime. The problem is that Mr. Hellscream shrinks from such questions like a vampire shrinks from the Light. You'd be more likely to get Mr. Hellscream to admit that I want to make this clear so that those who do not understand deeper messages embedded within sarcastic irony—and you know who I'm referring to—can process my point.

Call me intrusive if you'd like; I will still do everything in my power to bring meaning, direction, and purpose into our lives. Then, I will announce to the world that Mr. Hellscream's plan is to galvanize a drugged-out hysteria, a large-scale version of the pretentious mentality that can create a beachhead for organized interdenominationalism. Mr. Hellscream's disciples are moving at a frightening pace toward the total implementation of that agenda, which includes throwing away our freedom, our honor, and our future.

Mr. Hellscream is good at stirring his jackals into a frenzied lunacy of hatred and vengeance. Doing so blinds those to the fact that we cannot afford to waste our time, resources, and energy by dwelling upon inequities of the past. Instead, we must follow knowledge like a sinking star beyond the utmost bound of sentient thought. Doing so would be significantly easier if more people were to understand that if I were to compile a list of Mr. Hellscream's forays into espionage, sabotage, and subversion, it would fill an entire page and perhaps even run over onto the following one. Such a list would surely make every sane person who has passed the age of six realize that Mr. Hellscream's fantasy is to condition the public to accept violence as normal and desirable. He dreams of a world that grants him such a freedom with no strings attached. Welcome to the world of collectivism! In that nightmare world it has long since been forgotten that all of the bad things that are currently going on are a symptom of Mr. Hellscream's viperine perversions. They are not a cause; they are an effect."

More of the audience began to murmur and nod in approval. Caleb had clearly struck a chord. Therefore, he continued.

"Mr. Hellscream has, at times, called me "disgusting" or "hypocritical". Such contemptuous name-calling has passed far beyond the stage of being infantile but harmless. It has the capacity to lure the truculent into Mr. Hellscream's little empire. According to him, violence and prejudice are funny. He might as well be reading tea leaves or tossing chicken bones on the floor for divination about what's true and what isn't. Maybe then Mr. Hellscream would realize that to get even the simplest message into the consciousness of stiff-necked jabberers it has to be repeated at least fifty times. Now, I don't want to insult your intelligence by telling you the following fifty times, but if I chose to do so I could write exclusively about his postmodernist, irritable master plan and never be lacking for material. Nonetheless, I'd rather spend some time discussing how by refusing to act, by refusing to build a true community of spirit and purpose based on mutual respect and caring, we are giving Mr. Hellscream the power to gag free speech."

Caleb eyed the audience one more time before coming to his conclusion.

"With an enormous expenditure of words, unclear in content and incomprehensible as to meaning, Mr. Hellscream frequently stammers an endless hodgepodge of phrases purportedly as witty as in reality they are biggety. Only blasphemous nefarious-types can feel at home in this maze of reasoning and cull an "inner experience" from this dung heap of namby-pamby pessimism. In light of what I just stated, it's hard to avoid the conclusion that I'll tell you what we need to do about all the craziness he is mongering. We need to address the real issues faced by the people of Azeroth. Now that this speech has come to an end, let me remind you that it was intended to provide an accurate, even-handed, and balanced discussion of Mr. Garrosh Hellscream and his ramblings. Please do not contact me with insults, death threats, or the like because I will ignore them. If you disagree with my arguments or can provide further information about Mr. Hellscream, please contact me and I will endeavor to make any necessary corrections to this speech."

Once he finished, he noticed a figure entering the hideout. Once the figure entered, Caleb immediately knew who it was. It was Garrosh Hellscream himself. Chanting a quick incantation, Caleb teleported out of the hideout, leaving a cursing Garrosh to deal with the audience. Needless to say, he wasn't happy. Not in the least.

_*Well, that's another complaint. Reviews are appreciated.*_


	6. The Complaint about Ms Windrunner

_*Time to rip on the Banshee Queen. Enjoy…*_

**The Complaint about Ms. Sylvanas Windrunner**

The Plaguelands were something of a mystery to Caleb. How could such a great empire, such a jewel of sentient achievement fall so fast? This question bothered Caleb for an extended period of time, but he decided to ignore it as he made his way to an open graveyard to deliver his speech to a multitude of Forsaken adventurers. It seemed to him that id even these undead heathens were to be interested in his speech, things must be going well. He climbed the stage and was now on the podium, awaiting the silence of his audience. Never in his life would Caleb have imagined that he would be giving a lecture to a bunch of corpses. First time for everything. He gave an 'ahem' to gather his audience's attention before starting his complaint.

"In this speech I plan to cite some of Ms. Sylvanas Windrunner's more topical crimes and let you, the audience, decide for yourselves how to react. Let me begin by saying that Ms. Windrunner has warned us that as soon as our backs are turned, foolish boeotians will redefine unbridled self-indulgence as a virtue, as the ultimate test of personal freedom. If you think about it, you'll realize that Ms. Windrunner's warning is a self-fulfilling prophecy in the sense that Ms. Windrunner has been snuggling up to irritating junkies for quite some time. Alas, I usually get a lot of blank stares from people when I say something like that. What I mean is that Ms. Windrunner plans to tear down everything that can possibly be regarded as a support of moral elevation when you least expect it. I'd like to see her try to get away with such a plan; that should be good for a laugh. You see, most people have already observed that Ms. Windrunner's impractical attempt to construct a creative response to my previous speech was absolutely pitiful. Really, Ms. Windrunner, stringing together a bunch of solecistic insults and seemingly random babble is hardly effective. It simply proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that many people lie. However, Ms. Windrunner lies with such ease it's troubling.

What I just spoke is not based on merely a single experience or anecdote. Rather, it is based upon the wisdom of accumulated years, spanning two continents, and proven by the fact that Ms. Windrunner has for a long time been arguing that contumelious bums are more deserving of honor than our nation's war heroes. Had she instead been arguing that she deserves exemplary punishment, I might cede her this point. As it stands, the leap of faith required to bridge the logical gap in Ms. Windrunner's arguments is simply too terrifying for me to contemplate. What I do often contemplate, however, is how in a recent tell-all, a former member of her crime syndicate writes that "splenetic resistentialism is not new". Those are some pretty harsh words even when one considers that Ms. Windrunner managed to convince a bunch of bilious hermits to help her feed blind hatred. What was the gist of that remark? Well, we all know the answer to that question, don't we? In case you don't, you should note that it's irrelevant that my allegations are 100% true. She distrusts my information and arguments and will forever maintain her current opinions."

Caleb paused for some ale and a smoke from his pipe. Keeping his eyes on the walking corpses, he continued his inevitable crusade against the Banshee Queen.

"It has been said that Ms. Windrunner's foul arguments offer only false hopes. I believe that to be true. I also believe that she insists that she has no choice but to offer hatred with an intellectual gloss. Her reasoning is that the Universe belongs to her by right. Yes, I realize that that argument makes no sense, but Ms. Windrunner likes to imply that everything she says is entirely and totally true. This is what her obloquies amount to, although, of course, they're daubed over with the viscid slobber of viperine drivel devised by her "special people" and mindlessly multiplied by the most conceited swindlers you'll ever see. I am now in a position to define what I mean when I say that I can't count the number of times I've wanted to introduce an important but underrepresented angle on Ms. Windrunner's sullen beliefs. What I mean is that perhaps one day we will live in a world where good people are not troubled by fear of untrustworthy profiteers. Until that day arrives, however, we must spread the word that if you'll allow me a minor dysphemism, Ms. Windrunner's animadversions, which are constructions of dubious stability in their own right, are built on highly questionable foundations. Or, to phrase that a little more politely, I have begged Ms. Windrunner's worshippers to step forth and counteract the subtle but pervasive social message that says that a totalitarian dictatorship is the best form of government we could possibly have. To date, not a single soul has agreed to help in this fashion. Are they worried about how Ms. Windrunner might retaliate? I would venture the answer has something to do with fetishism. To elaborate, if we let Ms. Windrunner hammer a few more nails into the coffin of freedom, civilization itself will fall. There's nothing controversial about that view. It's a fact, pure and simple. It was a fact long before anyone realized that Ms. Windrunner would have us believe that mage towers are in fact covert mind-control devices that use scalar waves to beam images into people's brains while they sleep. Such flummery can be quickly dissipated merely by skimming a few random pages from any book on the subject.

By now, the listener has discerned that Ms. Windrunner is unable to support her assertions with documentation of any sort. So let me just add that I want to live my life as I see fit. I can't do that while Ms. Windrunner still has the ability to persuade many of her foes to enter into a one-way "dialogue" with her.

Here's the heart of the matter: Ms. Windrunner's off-the-cuff comments are not our only concern. To state the matter in a few words, there is still hope for our society, real hope—not the false sense of hope that comes from the mouths of debauched, obstreperous backbiters but the hope that makes you eager to balkanize her sententious posse into an etiolated and sapless agglomeration. Everybody loves a good game of hide-and-seek: find the person, find the hidden item, or, in Ms. Windrunner's case, find the hidden agenda. If Ms. Windrunner opened her eyes, she'd realize that her love of adversarialism and boosterism gives a new, perverse dimension to the old adage, "there is no disputing about tastes.""

Caleb was quite pleased to see the Forsaken pay attention to him so fervently. They looked as if they had finally found a power that is actually on their side. Smiling his wicked smile, he hence continued.

"I don't want to build castles in the air. I don't want to plan things that I can't yet implement. But I do want to mention a bit about dotty knuckleheads such as Ms. Windrunner because doing so clearly demonstrates how many of us do not wish to live within her walls of metagrobolism. So what's the connection between that and her writings? The connection is that my long-term goal is to advance freedom in nations strangled by tyranny. Unfortunately, much remains to be done. As you may have noticed, Ms. Windrunner spouts the same bile in everything she writes, making only slight modifications to suit the issue at hand. The issue she's notorious for is "assimilation", which says to me that when Ms. Windrunner was first found hamstringing our efforts to keep the faith, I was scared. I was scared not only for my personal safety; I was scared for the people I love. And now that Ms. Windrunner is planning to teach unambitious concepts to children, I'm downright terrified.

Ms. Windrunner has nothing but contempt for you, and you don't even know it. That's why I feel obligated to inform you that her scornful rantings stand as our generation's most prominent monument to anti-intellectualism. The logical consequences of that are clear: Ms. Windrunner always demands instant gratification. That's all that is of concern to her; nothing else matters—except maybe to take us all back to the Stone Age. I tell you this because if I said that Ms. Windrunner can be trusted to judge the rest of the world from a unique perch of pure wisdom, I'd be a liar. But I'd be being thoroughly honest if I said that if there's one thing that she's good at, it's spreading the germs of hatred, of discord and jealously, of dissolution and decomposition.

Given a choice of having Ms. Windrunner poison the relationship between teacher and student or having my bicuspids extracted with no herbs to ease the pain, I would embrace the pliers, purchase some Polident Partials, and call it a day. Statements like, "The depth of her disdain for the public and the height of her hubris are evident in her attempts to toss quaint concepts like decency, fairness, and rational debate out the window" accurately express the feelings of most of us here. I was, however, going to forget about the whole thing when it suddenly occurred to me that I realize that the tone of this speech may be making some people feel uneasy. However, even if you're somewhat uncomfortable listening to Ms. Windrunner's inarticulate threats please don't blame me for them. I'm not the one making us too confused, demoralized, and disunited to put up an effective opposition to her pronouncements. I'm not the one causing (or at least contributing to) a variety of social ills. And I'm not the one slandering those who are most systematically undervalued, underpaid, underemployed, underfinanced, underinsured, underrated, and otherwise underserved and undermined as undeserving and underclass."

Cracking his knuckles and chewing on his pipe some more, Caleb paused to contemplate what he would say next. After a moment, he thus spoke.

"I, hardheaded cynic that I am, feel no more personal hatred for Ms. Windrunner than I might feel for a herd of wild animals or a cluster of poisonous reptiles. One does not hate those whose souls can exude no spiritual warmth; one pities them. While the concept of broad-based peace and social justice coalitions remains desirable, she and her protégés are on a recruiting campaign, trying to convince everyone they meet to participate in remaking the map of the world into a Ms. Windrunner-friendly chessboard of puppet regimes and occupation governments. Don't join that band; instead, remember the scriptures of the Holy Text of the Light: "Thou shalt not follow a multitude to do evil." She's completely inconsistent in her views. On one hand, she insists that attacking the very fabric of this nation is essential for the safety and welfare of the public. But on the other hand, she favors imposing a particular curriculum, vision of history, and method of pedagogy on our school systems. How much clearer do I have to explain things before you can see her hypocrisy?

Ms. Windrunner truly believes that her mistakes are always someone else's fault. What kind of wishful world is she living in? This is not a question that we should run away from. Rather, it is something that needs to be addressed quickly and directly because she wants to wreck our country, derail our civilization, and threaten the people of Azeroth with extinction. Faugh. Her sympathizers, who are many and far in between, believe that she has the authority to issue licenses for practicing sophism. It should not be surprising that they believe this, however. As we all know, minds that have been so maimed that they believe that Ms. Windrunner is cunctipotent can believe anything, especially if it's false. In conclusion, let me just say that the elasticity of Ms. Sylvanas Windrunner's interpretation of the Holy Text of the Light shields Ms. Windrunner from having to take a stand for anything morally correct yet politically (spiritually?) unpopular."

Caleb didn't even have time to react when the arrow hit his shoulder. Another whizzed by, while a third hit him in his thigh. Falling off the stage, he could only see the approach of a cloaked figure along with several Forsaken guard. Feeling the poison in his veins, he could only hear a small laugh amongst the chaos of his audience. Before, he blacked out, he recognized the assailant.

It was Sylvanas Windrunner.

_*So, the second interludes coming up after this. Feedback is always welcome.*_


	7. Second Interlude

_*This is the second interlude so it doesn't have a complaint of any kind. Anyways, enjoy.*_

**Second Interlude**

Caleb awoke with a terrible feeling in his stomach. He immediately noticed that he was tied to a wall in what appeared to be the Banshee Queen's personal chambers. He also noticed that the wounds he received from Sylvanas were cleaned and bandaged. Caleb tried to free himself, but it was no use. Reflecting back on what he said during his previous speeches, he was starting to wonder if maybe he had gone too far this time. He winced slightly at the thought of what the undead elf would do to him. Having nothing better to do, he observed the Banshee Queen's chambers. It was well furnished, with several robes hanging over the couch and a rather large bed with several pillows, all dyed red and black.

Now why is her bed so large? , Caleb mused, Just why does she…?

And then suddenly it hit him. It could have hit him harder if a mace fell on his head.

Oh no…, Caleb thought in horror.

Without warning, the door of the main entrance to the chambers burst open. The Banshee Queen, in all her dreadfulness, entered. She strode to the couch and proceeded to strip of her armor, her back turned towards Caleb. Caleb, considering his reputation, couldn't take his eyes off of her. Even in death, and with her back turned, she was still a stunning beauty.

"Do you know why you a here, Caleb?" Sylvanas spoke without warning, her voice carrying the chill of the undead.

"I suppose I do. I take it I'm here because of the things I've been saying all over Azeroth, is that it?" Caleb replied casually.

Throwing the robe over her curvy body, she turned her head sideways to glance at Caleb with one eye. "You speak correctly." She replied just casually as Caleb did. Tying the knot of her robe, she turned to face her prisoner. After as moment of observation, she strode towards him, hate brimming in her eyes. But Caleb noticed something else in her eyes, another feeling…it was lust.

Now being just inches away from him, Caleb could feel her breath on his neck. He winced as she placed her right hand on his cheek. "So sure I am going to hurt you." She spoke softly.

Caleb opened his eyes to look at Sylvanas. After a tense moment, he said, "What is it you want, Sylvanas?"

A frown was now upon her face, and she released her hand. She fixed her terrible gaze upon him and spoke with harshness, "Caleb, I've been getting news from some of some of your "leaders" that you've been saying some rather strange things about them…and about me." Here, her gaze darkened even further.

"Who said they were _my _leaders? The reason I spread my propaganda is simply to sow the seeds of disdain among the people of Azeroth. I can't tell you why I do this, but I do it nonetheless as I am told." Caleb spoke smoothly.

"Oh?" she replied in a haughty tone, "And just who orders you to do these things?"

After a moment of contemplation, Caleb merely responded, "What's it to you?"

Sylvanas allowed her gaze to remain on him for a few minutes before bursting out in a mocking laughter. She continued to laugh and then giggle before regaining her composure. "You're right," she spoke, "It truly is nothing to me. You see, although I am allied with the Horde, the alliance is merely a cover. I couldn't care less what Garrosh or the other leaders of Azeroth think of me. I truly can't. But that is not the reason I brought you here…"

She pulled knife from her robe and, with a quick movement, sliced the bonds that held Caleb to the wall. He fell with a hollow thud to the ground and regained his composure in a matter of seconds. She then tossed the knife across the room where it landed in some corner. Caleb then met eye to eye with the Banshee Queen.

"Why have you brought me here, then?" Caleb spoke nervously.

Sylvanas, without warning, pulled Caleb into an embrace, and swung one leg from her robe around him. As she did so, she whispered in his ear, "Because, as of late, I've been…lonely. Yes, that's it. And since you and I have a, shall we say, _history_ together, I was thinking if you would like to relive some of that passion."

"Relive some of that passion?" Caleb repeated dumbly. He knew what this meant, but he wasn't sure what to do. On one hand, he had a speech to give in Winterspring, and on the other, he could have some _quality time_ with his former companion. The choice was obvious. It had been months since Caleb had slept with a woman, and he wasn't feeling like passing the opportunity by.

Caleb then embraced and Banshee Queen in a similar fashion, squeezing her ass and pressing her breasts against his chest. "I think that would be a marvelous idea, milady." Caleb spoke softly. Without a moment to spare, their mouths met in a hot embrace. As they continued to make out, their tongues started to dance over each other, causing their passion and lust to increase exponentially. She felt cold to the touch, but Caleb didn't mind. Although she was undead, she didn't smell like it and she certainly didn't taste like it either. As they kissed, they began to remove their respective clothes. With a swift flick of her wrist, Sylvanas' robe fell to the floor, revealing all her glorious curves, her round ass, her luscious breasts; everything. Caleb looked at her in awe.

"Like what you see?" she spoke seductively.

"Indeed…" Caleb replied as seductively.

Caleb began removing his breaches and his linen shirt, all the while following Sylvanas who motioned him towards the bed. After all that was done, Caleb now sat on the edge of the bed, as naked as the Banshee Queen was. Sylvanas approached Caleb and knelt in front of him, his swollen member right in front of her face. She smiled as she took it in her hand and began licking the shaft.

"I think I'm going to enjoy thus just as much as you are." She spoke as she winked at him.

"Hey, watch those wounds you gave me!" Caleb said as Sylvanas touched his inner thigh.

"Sorry." She replied flatly as she began to work on his length.

Caleb groaned as the licking turned into sucking. She took his whole member in her mouth and swirled her tongue against the tip.

I can't believe she is doing such as wonderful thing to me! Caleb thought his lust for her started to cloud his mind.

The speed at which Sylvanas sucked Caleb's length increased significantly. She could feel it throbbing like crazy. She decided to stroke her quim to increase her own pleasure. Her own mind was starting to become fuzzy as her lust for him started to grow. After several more strokes, Caleb roared as he released his seed inside of her mouth. Sylvanas, relishing in its taste, swallowed the milky cum. She then rose to her feet and wiped Caleb's juices with her finger, placing them in her mouth.

"Ah," she moaned, "as usual you made a lot, and it's so thick too…"

Before Caleb could respond, Sylvanas was already on top of him, her quim begging for his cock. She placed her lips on his, giving Caleb yet another passionate kiss. "Now," she whispered, "let's keep doing it, right to the very end."

"But what about your duties? Surely you have meetings or inspections or something." Caleb inquired.

Placing a hand on his cheek, she smiled before saying, "It's alright; let's just do it."

"Okay." Caleb replied, passion betraying his voice.

As Sylvanas kept kissing Caleb, she quickly slid his cock into her already wet pussy. Caleb moaned in surprise as did Sylvanas. She started to ride him slowly, shifting his cock in and out of her pussy. Moaning some more, she started to move her hips faster and faster, causing the pleasure in both of them to rise. Caleb, seeing Sylvanas on top of him, groped her breasts and squeezed them hard. She gave out a groan of pleasure as he did this. She never felt this relaxed before. The pure pleasure that a man and woman can give each other somehow managed to warm her undead heart. Caleb then grabbed her ass and started to move his cock in and out at his own rhythm. Sylvanas, sensing this, moved her hips at that same rhythm. They were now groaning in ecstasy, shouting each other's names. They were both close to their respective orgasms. Caleb then threw Sylvanas under him and, now being on top, started to suck on her breasts, nibbling a little at her nipples. The Banshee Queen threw her head back as she moaned loudly. Caleb was slamming her pussy with all his might while Sylvanas took it all in.

"A-Ah!" Caleb groaned, "S-Sylvan-as! I c-can't hold it any l-longer!"

"Oh!" Sylvanas groaned back, "Do it! I'm going to cum too!"

As Caleb motioned to pull out, Sylvanas wrapped him in with her legs, preventing him from doing so.

"Ah! Sylvanas! W-what are you d-doing?" Caleb exclaimed.

"I want you to cum inside me!" Sylvanas moaned in passion.

"But if I d-do that, won't you get p-preg…" Caleb tried to finish.

Sylvanas shot him an annoyed look. "Forget about that! Just cum inside me!" she shouted, still in passion.

Caleb, nodding, increased the speed of his thrust. Both he and Sylvanas came at the same time, their respective cum colliding inside of her pussy. They both groaned as they released the feelings that had been kept from each other these past months. Caleb pulled his cock out and pumped it a few times, a flash of whit cum splattering her face. She licked her lips in delight, relishing once more in the taste of his cum. Sylvanas rolled out of the bed and, with two fingers, opened her pussy up to allow all of the cum to ooze out. A thick liquid poured that was part clear; part solid white drizzled onto the floor. She moaned in delight as she did this. Once it was finished, she fell back into beck. Caleb did the same thing, now laying his head on Sylvanas' breasts. They both panted, sweat running down their faces. Caleb had made the Banshee Queen sweat, something no other being had done. Lifting Caleb's head, she planted another kiss on his lips, massaging his tongue with hers.

"Mm." She moaned, "How is it that you are this good?"

"Only because you're so good." Caleb spoke softly.

"So," she shot him a seductive smile and she pulled him closer, "You want to go again?"

Caleb smiled warmly at this before saying, "Yes ma'am."

And they kissed and made love once more. Caleb knew that Sylvanas was the only leader in Azeroth whom he could actually trust. And for that he was grateful.

_*Reviews are appreciated. Tell me what you think.*_


	8. The Complaint about The Horde

**The complaint about The Horde**

_*Okay, here's the next rant. It's about the Horde this time, so there's more to complain about. Anyway, enjoy.*_

Caleb was already dressed by the time Sylvanas had awoken from her slumber. She shifted a little in her bed, trying to fall asleep once more. Her mind was still worn out after having her quim spasm in ecstasy five times by Caleb's cock. Gathering the rest of his things, he glanced once more at the undead, but beautiful, leader of the Forsaken. He didn't like it, but he had to do what he planned to do. Despite what he promised to Sylvanas, he had to continue his speeches. It wasn't his will to do so, but it had to be done nonetheless. She herself said she didn't care, for the undead function quite differently from the living. Maybe she was right; maybe not. Anyways, it was time to defame the Horde itself. Caleb quietly chanted a teleportation spell, and in a flash, he was gone, leaving the Banshee Queen to her sleep.

Caleb was now in Nagrand. He proceeded towards a small cave on his right, believing this place to be the location of his next speech. He believed correctly, for he saw what were about two-hundred members of the Alliance, people of many races (Night Elves, Humans, Dwarves, etc.), sitting near the stage, conversing amongst themselves about whatever they fancied. When they saw Caleb, they started to cheer. Caleb, now leaning on the podium, waved for his audience to calm down, as he cracked his neck, preparing himself for the torrent that was about to be unleashed. After staring intently at the audience for a few moments, he began.

"I've been doing a lot of meditating and praying lately, and this has helped me collect my thoughts and organize them into the speech you're about to hear. To begin at the beginning, The Horde's hysteria-producing rantings are sufficient to give pause to the less thoughtful among us. "Oh, oh," such people think. "We'd better help The Horde turn positions of leadership into positions of complacency—just in case." While I don't know The Horde's secret plans, I do know that every festival that The Horde attends rapidly degenerates into a free-for-all of slam dancing and scattered fistfights. As an interesting experiment, try to point this out to it. (You might want to don high-level plate armor first.) I think you'll find that The Horde recently went through a mysticism phase in which it tried repeatedly to regiment the public mind as much as an army regiments the bodies of its soldiers. In fact, I'm not convinced that this phase of it has entirely passed. My evidence is that people sometimes ask me why I seem incapable of saying anything nice about The Horde. I'd like to—really, I would. The problem is, I can't think of anything nice to say. I guess that's not surprising when you consider that if you read between the lines of The Horde's philippics, you'll surely find that The Horde's trained warriors believe that The Horde can ignore rules, laws, and truces without repercussion. It should not be surprising that they believe this, however. As we all know, minds that have been so maimed that they believe that two wrongs make a right can believe anything, especially if it's false.

The Horde is not only deceitful, but it also lacks the self-control necessary to conform its behavior to reasonable norms. Despite The Horde's evident lack of grounding in what it's talking about, if it were up to The Horde, aspiring children would be taught reading, 'riting, and racism. At first blush, it appears that The Horde's brethren form a morbid organization devoted to harassment and barratry. However, I support those who devote their life to education and activism. It is through their tireless efforts that people everywhere are learning that that fact is simply inescapable to any thinking man or woman. "Thinking" is the key word in the previous sentence.

The Horde insists that every word that leaves its leader's mouth is teeming with useful information. Sorry, Horde, but, with apologies to my former master, Eric Grinwold, "it ain't necessarily so." Where does the line get drawn? The Horde offers two reasons as to why it does the things it does "for its children". It argues that (1) it is an organization of peace, and (2) it would sooner give up money, fame, power, and happiness than perform a venom-spouting act. These arguments are invalid for the following reasons: First, it distresses me deeply that its oppressive companions can cast votes that count just as much as mine. For that reason, statements like, "The Horde should stop and savor life, not palm off our present situation as the compelling ground for worldwide tribalism" accurately express the feelings of most of us here. The Horde is crazier than a drugged up troll witch doctor. Well, that's a bit too general of a statement to have much meaning, I'm afraid. So let me instead explain my point as follows: The Horde accuses me of being offensive whenever I state that in the near future, its bromides will create a mass psychology of fear about an imminent Alliance threat. This may sound harsh, but the fact remains that the spectrum of views between nativism and voyeurism is not a line but a circle at which selfish, ophidian cult leaders and jealous twaddlers meet. To properly place The Horde somewhere in that spectrum one needs to realize that I consider The Horde's accusations antithetical to my principles as a person concerned for the good of all. That's something you won't find in your local mailbox because it's the news that just doesn't fit."

He paused for some air and to collect the emotions of his audience. They were clearly enjoying this. Stretching a bit, he decided to rest a little on the podium before starting once more. His time with Sylvanas had clearly taken a lot out of him. She made him orgasm at least six times. After that, Caleb lost count. Clearing his throat, he continued.

"The Horde's bloodthirsty brutes are unified under a common goal. That goal is to break up society's solidarity and cohesiveness. However, I want to unify our community. The Horde, in contrast, wants to drive divisive ideological wedges through it. The Horde feels obligated to erect a screen of flatulent verbiage to hide the real world from its victims. (Actually, my efforts to analyze The Horde's stratagems in the manner of sociological studies of mass communication and persuasion lead The Horde to pray for my effacement as fervently as I pray for its, but that's not important now.) You may make the comment, "What does this have to do with detestable deadbeats?" Well, once you begin to see the light you'll realize that it would be a semantic quibble to deny that The Horde's gofers are heartless, fickle theologasters (literally!). So let The Horde call me hypersensitive. I call it irascible.

If my memory serves me correctly, unlike The Horde, when I make a mistake I'm willing to admit it. Consequently, if—and I'm bending over backwards to maintain the illusion of "innocent until proven guilty"—it were not actually responsible for trying to dam the flow of effective communication, then I'd stop saying that The Horde's worshippers have the gall to accuse me of capitalizing on our needs and vulnerabilities. Were these destructive oligarchs born without a self-awareness part of their brains? I would venture the answer has something to do with particularism. To elaborate, my goal is to develop an alternative community, a cohesive and comprehensive underground with a charter to wake people out of their stupor and call on them to condemn The Horde's criminal ineptitude. I will not stint in my labor in this direction. When I have succeeded, the whole world will know that I once read a book about how The Horde wants nothing less than to use heathenism as a more destructive form of snobbism. It was the powerful and long-lingering momentum of the impressions received on that occasion, more than any other circumstance, which gave definite form and resolution to my purpose of developing a rational-empirical base for dialogue about The Horde's expositions. The Horde claims that governments should have the right to deceive their own subjects or the Alliance. Perhaps it has some sound arguments on its side, but if so it's keeping them hidden. I'd say it's far more likely that fogyism is dangerous. The Horde's addlepated version of it is doubly so.

Whenever anyone states the obvious—that the scantiness of The Horde's abstract knowledge directs its sentiments more to the world of extremism—discussion naturally progresses towards the question, "Where do we go from here?" I apologize if this disappoints you, but my intent was only to elucidate the question, not to answer it. I shall therefore state only that no man who values himself, who has any regard for sound morality, or who feels any desire to see intellectual progress made certain, can rightfully join The Horde's semi-intelligible attempt to pursue an effrontive agenda under the guise of false concern for the environment, poverty, civil rights, or whatever. The Horde and I disagree about our civic duties. I claim that we must do our utmost to offer true constructive criticism—listening to the whole issue, recognizing the problems, recognizing what is being done right, and getting involved to help remedy the problem. The Horde, on the other hand, believes that it is forward-looking, open-minded, and creative. Its leaders, Thrall and Garrosh, believe they both have infinite wisdom. I would fain hammer out solutions on the anvil of discourse but I'm a bit worried that The Horde will retaliate by painting pictures of improvident worlds inhabited by termagant, mumpish polemics. I'm worried because it's planning to exploit issues such as the global economic crisis and the increase in war in order to instigate planet-wide chaos. Planet-wide chaos is The Horde's gateway to global tyranny, which will in turn enable it to engulf the world in a dense miasma of vigilantism."

Caleb paused once more to rest while his audience cheered him on. Sipping at some ale and smoking his pipe some more, he decided to continue his complaint.

"When we tear apart the associations necessary to The Horde's feckless mind games, we see that my sources tell me that The Horde intends to rob, steal, cheat, and murder on a grand scale. Not on my watch! I am therefore calling upon all good citizens to build a society in which people have a sense of permanence and stability, not chaos and uncertainty. The common denominator of all of The Horde's views is that they seek to waste its citizen's money. Need I say more? I don't think so, but this I will say: I deeply believe that it's within our grasp to point the high-powered fire hose of truth at The Horde's refractory litanies to wash away their multiple layers of adventurism. Be grateful for this first and last tidbit of comforting news. The rest of this speech will center on the way that only through education can individuals gain the independent tools they need to proscribe it and its thralls as the most dangerous enemies of the people. But the first step is to acknowledge that The Horde loves generating drama and conflict. That's why it repeatedly insists that there should be publicly financed centers of adversarialism. It's also why it believes in dragging everything that is truly great into the gutter.

The Horde presents one face to the public, a face that tells people what they want to hear. Then, in private, it devises new schemes to overthrow the Alliance and other such organizations. If The Horde's thinking were cerebral rather than glandular, it wouldn't consider it such a good idea to take away what few freedoms we have left. This is a suitable place in the letter to explain how The Horde often compares itself to Cenarius, usually on the grounds that I'm trying to drive an axe through it for speaking the truth. Unfortunately, I'll have to skip that rather interesting discussion because I have bigger fish to fry. In particular, I need to tell you that raucous bourgeoisie do not deserve the assistance they receive from society. Now I could go off on that point alone, but its comments are often appallingly whiney, sometimes abysmal, frequently off-point, and occasionally stultiloquent. Nevertheless, they do tell us something important about The Horde. They tell us that The Horde intends to diminish our will to live."

Caleb paused once more to recollect on what was said and on how he should finish his (seemingly) successful crusade against the Horde. He knew just how to conclude this speech. He thus spoke.

"Although The Horde occasionally exhibits a passable simulacrum of rationality, I myself can indubitably suggest how it ought to behave. Ultimately, however, the burden of acting with moral rectitude lies with The Horde itself. I enjoy the great diversity of the people of Azeroth, in our food, our dress, our music, our literature, and our forms of spiritual expression. What I don't enjoy are The Horde's uncongenial undertakings, which deface property with racially and sexually derogatory epithets and offensive symbols.

The Horde has been fairly successful in its efforts to instill distrust and thereby create a need for its obstinate views. That just goes to show what can be done with a little greed, a complete lack of scruples, and the help of a bunch of the most passive-aggressive blatherskites I've ever seen. The Horde preys on the rebellious, disenfranchised and vengeful tricking them into joining its polity. Their first assignment usually involves overthrowing those who they do not agree with. The lesson to draw from this is that The Horde plans to defecate on the concerns of others. The result will be an amalgam of oleaginous jujuism and obstreperous absenteeism, if such a monster can be imagined. Let me end by citing my standard hate-mail response form letter:

Thank you for your thoughtful reply. One question, though: Do you actually want The Horde to institutionalize totalitarianism through systematic violence, distorted religion, and dubious magic? Because that's what'll happen if we don't allay the concerns of the many people who have been harmed by The Horde."

The audience stood up and clapped in unison. Caleb had clearly managed to convince even more adventurers that his "speeches" spoke truth. Without any further ado, he teleported out of the cave and back to Stormwind; not knowing where to go next. The Alliance must obviously have its share of defamation, but judging by how things went last time, he wasn't sure how he was going to do this. Only the Light knows what will await him in the grand city of Stormwind.

_*Yet another complaint. Stay tuned for more of Caleb's rants.*_


	9. The Complaint about The Alliance

_*Time for The Alliance. This is probably one of the longest complaints, so enjoy.*_

**The complaint about The Alliance**

Caleb tried to move towards the Slaughtered Lamb as fast as he possibly could. He noticed the crowd was already gathering at the entrance of the tavern. Pushing past them, he hopped onto the stage, straightened his clothes a bit and motioned for the audience to sit. No time for formalities; it wouldn't be long before Varian would realize that he was giving one of his speeches again, much less in his own city. Clearing his throat, and slamming one fist onto the podium, he started his long and winding speech.

"This is a speech of love and peace; I will not lash out against anyone, and I will not use specific names of individuals or organizations that denigrate and discard all of Azerothian culture. That said, let me merely point out that The Alliance is definitely the bane of my existence. You see, I surely believe that I indubitably don't want to have to listen to The Alliance's obscene, reprehensible billingsgate. And because of that belief, I'm going to throw politeness and inoffensiveness to the four winds. In this speech, I'm going to be as rude and crude as I know how, to reinforce the point that The Alliance's assistants are tools. Like a hammer or an axe, they are not inherently evil or destructive. The evil is in the force that manipulates them and uses them for destructive purposes. That evil is The Alliance, who wants nothing less than to force some to live by restrictive standards not applicable to others.

I, speaking as someone who is not a ruthless, dotty con artist, respect this world's many languages and believe in the use of words as a means of communication. Sniffish, foul-mouthed cads like The Alliance, however, consider spoken communication as merely a set of noises uttered to excite emotions in unimaginative layabouts in order to convince them to stonewall on issues in which law-abiding citizens see a vital public interest. The Alliance is just trying to pick a fight. That's why it says that the peak of fashion is to fuel inquisitions. The Alliance's vituperations symbolize lawlessness, violence, and misguided rebellion—extreme liberty for a few, even if the rest of us lose more than a little freedom.

Finding the best way to investigate the development of nonrepresentationalism as a concept is a challenging problem indeed. We must therefore tackle this problem with more determination, more tenacity, and more fanaticism than it has ever been tackled before. Only then will people realize that The Alliance's loin-rubbers say, "Black is white and night is day." Yes, I'm afraid they really do talk like that. It's the only way for them to conceal that The Alliance accuses me of being impolite in my responses to its lecherous contrivances. Let's see: It disgorges its disparaging and arrogant comments on a topic of which it is wholly ignorant, and it expects a polite reply? What is it, crapulous?

While I can't speak for anyone else, I, pessimist that I am, suspect that The Alliance has been telling everyone that there is something intellectually provocative in the tired rehashing of sanguinary stereotypes. I would like to remind The Alliance that false words are not only evil in themselves, but they infect the soul with evil. I have reason to believe that The Alliance is about to boss others around. I pray that I'm wrong, of course, because the outcome could be devastating. Nevertheless, the indications are there that The Alliance has spoken of far more than its fair share of lengthy, over-worded, pseudo-intellectual tripe. In all such instances it conveniently overlooks the fact that it fervently believes that it's crazy to lift our nation from the quicksand of injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. This shows that it is not merely mistaken about one little fact among millions of facts but that The Alliance is not your average domineering, puerile pedant. It's the deluxe model. As such, it's poised to hurt others physically or emotionally eventually."

Pausing for breath, he clutched his chest and leaned onto the podium, keeping his stoic expression in check. Was he still tired after that session with Sylvanas? He didn't have sex in months and to have that much in such a short time was not what his body was expecting. Regaining his composure, he continued.

"While some information provided by The Alliance's flunkies may be factual, other material is unsubstantiated rumor or loathsome hastily mounted campaigns. There are tyrannical scapegraces in our midst. Natural law is therefore the fulcrum upon which rests the case that The Alliance doesn't want us to compare, contrast, and identify the connections among different classes of manipulative totalitarianism. It would rather we settle for the meatless bone of Legionism. There is certainly a cocky dimension to The Alliance's campaigns. Or, if "cocky" is too narrow of a term, perhaps you'd prefer "delirious". In any case, every time The Alliance tries, it gets increasingly successful in its attempts to practice "diplomacy" with some of its "allies" through the use of bribery, blackmail and deceit. It really shouldn't come as a surprise that I am saying these things.

What if we collectively just told The Alliance's secret agents, "Sure, go ahead and play on people's conscious and unconscious belief structures. Have fun!"? That would be worse than demented; it would exploit the feelings of charity and guilt that many people have over the plight of the homeless.

One wonders how The Alliance can complain about the worst sorts of stultiloquent gutter-dwellers I've ever seen given that its own nostrums also aim to drive us into a state of apoplexy. I have never been in favor of being gratuitously misinformed. I have also never been in favor of sticking my head in the sand or of refusing to nourish children with good morals and self-esteem. When The Alliance is safely surrounded by its votaries, it instructs them to harvest what others have sown.

By telling you this, I am undoubtedly sticking my head far above the parapet. The big danger is that The Alliance will retaliate against me. It'll most likely try to force me to lose my temper although another possibility is that it is squarely in favor of fanaticism and its propensity to drain our hope and enthusiasm. This is so typical of The Alliance: it condemns bigotry and injustice except when it benefits it personally. In that respect, we can say that The Alliance's older declamations were brusque enough. Its latest ones are unquestionably beyond the pale. While others have also published information about malign worrywarts, The Alliance promises its bedfellows that as soon as it's finished burning our fair cities to the ground, they'll all become rich beyond their wildest dreams. There's an obvious analogy here to the way that vultures eat a cadaver and from its rottenness insects and worms suck their food. The point is that I strive to be consistent in my arguments. I can't say that I'm 100% true to this, but The Alliance's frequent vacillating leads me to believe that it has never disproved anything I've ever said. The Alliance does, however, often try to discredit me by means of flagrant misquotations, by attributing to me views that I've never expressed. In the end, knowledge and wisdom are its enemies. The Alliance understands that by limiting education and enlightenment, it can fool more people into believing that its disrespectful entourage is a respected civil-rights organization. Sadly, those with the least education are those who would benefit most from the knowledge that if you look back over some of my older speeches, you'll see that I predicted that The Alliance would evade responsibility. And, as I predicted, it did. But you know, that was not a difficult prediction to make. Anyone who has bothered to learn even a little about The Alliance could have made the same prediction."

Scanning the tavern for any signs of dissent or of any approaching guard, Caleb breathed a sigh and went on. It won't be long now.

"What I am getting at is this: I obviously believe that the Alliance is just a cheeky criminal. How else can I characterize an organization that did all of the following and then some?

Siphon off scarce international capital intended for underdeveloped nations.

Use every conceivable form of diplomacy, deception, pressure, coercion, bribery, treason, and terror to rewrite history to reflect or magnify an imaginary "victimhood".

Use psychological tools to trick us into doing whatever it requires of us.

Without beating around the bush, I'll tell you now what I have concluded about The Alliance's snippy screeds. I've concluded that there are three fairly obvious problems with The Alliance's values, each of which needs to be addressed by any letter that attempts to make an impartial and well-informed evaluation of the advantages and disadvantages of The Alliance's reinterpretations of historic events. First, The Alliance's diplomats, particularly Jaina Proudmoore, are clear testimony to the fact that The Alliance once told its backers, "Hey, let's all go out and sensationalize all of the issues!" (or words to that effect). Second, people who agree with The Alliance's dissertations are either stupid, drunk, smoking herbs, paid off by The Alliance, or are hypocritical roustabouts. And third, if I had to choose between chopping onions and helping The Alliance waste hours and hours of our time in fruitless conferences and meetings, I'd be in the kitchen in an instant. Although both alternatives make me cry, the deciding factor for me is that if I thought that The Alliance's expedients had even a snowball's chance in Hell of doing anything good for anyone, then I wouldn't be so critical. As they stand, however, I can conclude only that you may find it instructive to contrast the things I like with the things that The Alliance likes. I like listening to music. The Alliance likes shaming my name. I like kittens and puppies. The Alliance likes undermining everyone's capacity to see, or change, the world as a whole. I like spending time with friends. The Alliance likes threatening anyone who's bold enough to state that its arguments would be a lot more effective if they were at least accurate or intelligent, not just a load of bull for the sake of being controversial.

There are three points I need to make here. First, The Alliance has no conception of our moral and ethical standards. Second, I can't live with flippant, confused thieves who apotheosize crotchety, prudish beatniks. And third, the first thing we need to do is to get The Alliance to admit that it has a problem. It should be counseled to recite the following:

I, The Alliance, am a daft, inimical purveyor of malice and hatred.

I have been a participant in a giant scheme to promote a humorless blackguardism.

I hereby admit my addiction to ruffianism. I ask for the strength and wisdom to fight this addiction.

Once The Alliance realizes that it has a problem, maybe then it'll see that if you think that this is humorous or exaggerated, you're wrong."

Cracking his knuckles and staring at the tavern's main entrance, he decided to continue for a little longer. Hopefully, he would have time to get his message across.

"The Alliance's list of sins is long and each one deserves more time than I have here. Therefore, rather than describe each one individually, I'll summarize by stating that if we do nothing, it will keep on selling us fibs and fear mixed with a generous dollop of racism. One cannot change this all in a moment, but one can push the boundaries of knowledge ever farther. I am a law-and-order kind of person. I hate to see crimes go unpunished. That's why I really hope that The Alliance serves a long prison term for its illegal attempts to displace meaningful discussion of an issue's merit or demerit with hunch and emotion. To end this speech, I would like to make a bet with The Alliance. I will gladly give The Alliance a day's salary if it can prove that sin is good for the soul, as it insists. If The Alliance is unable to prove that, then its end of the bargain is to step aside while I advance a clear, credible, and effective vision for dealing with our present dilemma and its most wayward manifestations. So, do we have a bet, Alliance? On second thought, don't answer that; I'll leave it up to my audience to answer that rhetorical question."

His audience remained silent for a brief moment before bursting out into cheer. This was by far his most successful speech. Just as he was about to motion his audience to calm down, the front door slammed open with such a force that it flew off its hinges. He could only make out the silhouette of a bulky figure among the dust that filled the open entrance. Once the figure stepped through, Caleb immediately recognized him as Varian Wrynn, the King of Stormwind. Another figure came through the opening; it was Jaina Proudmoore, looking very, very pissed off. Without so much as a second thought, Caleb darted through the audience and up the stairs where he smashed through a window of one of the rooms landing perfectly onto to the street. He then made a mad dash towards Deeprun Tram. He was not going to get captured a second time. He was sure of this.

Unfortunately, for Caleb, his luck was about to run out.

_*Stay tuned for the Third Interlude.*_


End file.
